


FOH (front of house)

by star_pilots



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Food Service, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chef Ben Solo, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurts So Good, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, New York City, POV First Person, POV Rey (Star Wars), Parental Negligence, Rey (Star Wars) is Nobody, Rey Needs A Hug, Slow Burn, Waitress Rey (Star Wars), dont you worry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23920774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_pilots/pseuds/star_pilots
Summary: 'I’m afraid of what will happen when I leave. I’m more afraid of what will happen if I don’t…I don’t hate you. Either of you. I never could. So please don’t hate me.Please.Love always,Rey'*Inheritance is never just money, and for Rey it is is a rapidly approaching creature. As faith in her parents dwindles, Rey needs to make a choice if she wants to survive. Not just survive, but live. And not just live, but have hope.Hope seems to live where one might not expect it, and Rey's waitressing experience and first job interview that she lands in New York gives her a glimpse into what the world could be. All she needs is a teacher.(Yo, this is is a service industry fic ft. chef Ben and waitress Rey. Let's go.)
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 11
Kudos: 36





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> my darlings, this is my love letter to new york city and the industry that gave me safety, security, and a new family. this is a very vulnerable story for me to write, but i really want to, and i really want for rey what it gave to me. please enjoy, and give me critique! i'm graduating with my writing degree next month :)

I winced as I unzipped my bag as quickly and quietly as I could. It wasn’t as loud as a gunshot. I hated that metaphor because people did not really know what one sounded like when they used it. Leaning from a comfortable distance into abstract things. No, the zipper was not quite so loud. But the sound of it bounced off the walls with the same vigor.

Five minutes. Just five more minutes and I would be out of here.

I double checked my bag for the fifth time since that morning. Or sixth? Once right after I zipped it shut the first time. The second after I did my last shift at Plutt’s, shoving my tools in my bag and ensuring nothing fell out in the shuffle. A third time at the public library where I printed the directions, twice, detailing the route that would allow me to take my bike, avoiding tolls and the Garden State Parkway, all the way there. I didn’t trust my phone to hold its battery for that long of a ride. I snatched a tiny flashlight from Plutt’s for the same reason. I printed twelve copies of my resume, too, while I was there.

A fourth at Maz’s Diner when I picked up my last paycheck, a mere thirty-two dollars on a server’s wage. The tiny old woman had handed me a small envelope, patting my hand with a face that wanted to say the right thing. I didn’t tell her my plan, where I was going, what I was doing, but I thought she could tell anyway. She always went on and on about “having lived too long and seen too much” when people tried to stiff her or her servers, even more vehement when it was my table. They were unsuccessful after she gave them an earful and they usually left tipping twenty percent. I was “too good for a place like this,” she would say. I didn’t know what that meant.

After a bit of searching, she pulled her hand away and said, “You earned it,” with small, unblinking eyes. I was grateful for just that, because tears clouded my vision. I averted my gaze to pretend to look through my bag again. So, five.

I took a nap on the couch in the office after that, feeling some of my adrenaline loosen for the first time since I woke that day. The morning felt like years and years ago. I wished that it was. I wished that I had had the courage.

Four minutes. Sixth check of my bag. Two envelopes. One of my own and one from Maz, mine thicker than hers because it has my bank information. Old, refurbished laptop. Small canvas bag of tools. Two notebooks, two directions, twelve resumes. Three pencils. I rezipped my backpack.

Not wanting to risk the questions more sounds could raise, I merely patted and felt around the outside of the duffle bag I pulled from under my bed.

That I packed last night. I could pack a lot of clothing without taking up much space given the heat of summer. One extra hoodie. Six t-shirts, two long sleeve shirts, two jeans, sweatpants, nicer sneakers than the ones I was wearing. My nicest button down for whatever interview I could land. A towel, a blanket. The sublet had a bed but no guarantee of comfort. Enough to start off, not too much to raise suspicion right away. The drunk haze would have to lift before it was too noticeable.

The two bags may have looked strange but not outlandish. Even after all this time, I didn’t really know what would look strange to a drunk person. Perhaps everything was strange, or nothing was. I never stopped myself at a point that I could remember, even if I remembered not remembering, and that I made a fool of myself too many times.

But they thought I had friends and that was why I spent so much time out of the house. There was school, which they knew. And work, though I never told them how often. Couldn’t risk the money question. So, they thought I had friends to hangout with. Have a sleepover with even.

Birth certificate, social security card, high school diploma, college diploma, tax documents, bank statements. Three minutes.

_Shit._

I rifled through the meager stack of books on my nightstand. Pulling an illegible cover from the pile, too dark in my room to distinguish, I flicked the pages open to somewhere in the middle. I pinched a stem between two fingers and flicked my eyes around the room then over the surface of my bags. What could I put it in without drawing more attention to myself and without smushing it?

I had a small pocket on the outside of my duffle. Still smushable. _Damn._ I put it back in the book and shoved them together in the duffle pocket. Maybe I would read it. I’d have some free time. Hopefully not much and not for long.

I opened the topmost drawer of my dresser. A piece of paper and envelope number three, thinner than the others. I didn’t need to read the paper to know what it said. I had rehearsed it in my head, over and over, for at least a year.

Or several. I traced its surface, the deeper ridges indicating where I had to force my own hand to write against its will. I dragged my fingers from the top to the bottom.

_Dear Mom and Dad,_ I held my breath.

_…thinking about this for a long time. How unfair this all is for all of us. I’m afraid of what will happen when I leave. I’m more afraid of what will happen if I don’t…_

My fingers treaded over the warped, licked glue of the envelope. A flavor that my tongue knew well.

_… should be enough to get you by for a short time. I still trust you to be careful with it, even if you haven’t given me reason to. Please don’t ask me for more, again…_

I wrenched my hand away as if burned. I knew it wasn’t. I knew what burning felt like. I shut the drawer, sliding it softly into place.

Okay. _Okay._ I grabbed my bike off of the wall with my helmet and wheeled it to the door. I slung my backpack over both shoulders and my duffle diagonally across it. I shifted my shoulders. Wasn’t too heavy. Nothing I couldn’t bear.

I opened the door and looked back at my room. The room. A room. The few things I took with me made it look sterile. I patted the pockets of my leggings, my hoodie. Phone, keys, wallet. I turned my bike out and the door clicked behind me.

All of the lights were out. They weren’t here or they were hungover. No way to know until I passed through the living room. I tiptoed around the corner. The television was cold and dark on the wall across from the small sofa. I wheeled toward the door, keeping my head tucked to my chin so my gaze wouldn’t wander to the few photos on the wall.

“Rey?”

My bike stopped it’s gentle clicking. I shut my eyes tight.

“Yeah, Mom?”

I heard her shifting on the sofa. I opened my eyes to find her sitting up over the back of it.

“Where are you off to, sweetie? Work?” Her tone was gentle, voice soft as ever. She didn’t yell. That wasn’t her way. Eyes shifted subtly enough that I knew she was drunk.

“Not tonight. Staying at a friend’s house, actually.” I patted my buns self-consciously. Their purpose was sometimes forgotten in the flow of routine. It would have benefitted me to leave them down tonight.

“Who’s that, baby?” Hair stuck to the side of her face. She didn’t call me ‘baby’ unless she was like that, though I still felt myself melt. I wished her eyes would stay level when she said it.

“Teedo?” I didn’t mean for it to be a question.

“Okay, honey. Get there safe,” she said as she began to shift back down on the couch.

I couldn’t help myself. “Where’s Dad?” I asked.

“ _Pfft,_ ” she said. Aggressive shuffling surfaced, muffled by the sofa. “ _Traitor_. Asshole,” she muttered. The first word socked me in the stomach. My fingers clenched around my handlebars to keep myself upright. Squeaking cushions grew silent but that didn’t mean anything. Dad yelled. Mom didn’t have to.

I didn’t know what else to say. I stood there for a moment, hoping that one of us could get it right. The silence merely grew. I pushed my bike further forward.

“See you tomorrow, baby?” Her voice was cradled in a yawn, a hand swaddling her own mouth.

My jaw clenched. “Yeah, Mom. Tomorrow.” Chin tucked again, advancing on the front door. There was only one deadbolt and it gave easily. I closed it behind me, checking the lock twice and that the door was secure, then looked out to a huge, star riddled sky.

Was it always so big? Were there always so many stars? I realized some of them were moisture on the edges of my eyelashes glistening in the streetlamp. I squeezed my eyes shut. The night was balmy. It pressed against my body.

I took off down the street at a run, jogging to the curb and swinging my leg over the side without breaking stride. I kept my pace, winding around potholes that I knew without the glow of the lamps above me, not thinking twice about avoiding the most direct street to take me across the highway. I had not made that mistake in years. Zigzagging around basketball hoops weighed down by cement blocks that lined the curbs.

I stood on my pedals and pumped my legs. The wiry muscles of my legs no longer screamed during an extended ride. I had been preparing for it before I knew that I was.

I slowed to a stop at the entrance to the community. My community. The two lights beaming from the single entrance were enough light to refer to my maps. I took them out with a roll of tape. One I folded tiny and tucked into my hoodie pocket. My teeth tore pieces of the duct tape apart. I used them to fasten my other map to the center of my handlebars. Then I wrapped the handle and the small flashlight with the tape, so it faced perpendicular to the map. Its little button rested on the butt of it, so I left that part exposed. I could click it with my thumb on and off when I needed to see it again.

_Go straight through the light that crosses the highway, then make the second left that follows it. Follow that to the Parkway entrance, then make a right._

I flicked the flashlight off and secured my helmet. My first bun rested just below it, keeping it snug, though precariously in place. I inched forward toward the red stoplight, waiting for it to turn. It would take about two minutes. I let my head turn back over my shoulder.

I couldn’t see the house, but I could trace the path back to it with microscopic clarity. Each speed bump, every crack. The few and far between storm drains. A single garden around the corner.

_I don’t hate you. Either of you. I never could. So please don’t hate me._

The red glow turned green in the window reflection of the nearest house. I whirled back, pumping my legs frantically, folding in on myself over my handlebars.

_Please._

_Love always,_

_Rey_

I rode on, under the glistening, wet light of many, many stars.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i won't be updating every day, but ive been favoring this story lately. in the meantime feel free to browse my other stuff. any feedback is amazing!

_Dear Rey,_

_Thank you so much for your application. We are very pleased with your experience as well as your enthusiasm. We would like to know your availability in the upcoming week, and if you would be able to come in for a follow up interview where we may discuss a training schedule. Please let me know when you can._

_All my best,_

_Amilyn_

Orchards _General Manager_

“Oh, fuck yeah!” I bolted upright in bed, clutching my laptop near my face despite its heat under my hands. I read, then reread the kind but formal response to my resume. I trembled with excitement, mouthing the content of the email to myself. ‘ _Pleased with my experience_.’ The response I was increasingly certain would not come. The one that reminded me that the burning in my body, after that long, _long_ ride, was worth it.

Jessika had been the one to greet me at the door that night. Or more like early that morning. She was a morning person and didn’t mind meeting me to hand off my keys. Her eyes had scanned over my bags and bike, curious but not asking questions. She had clutched her coffee cup to her chest and ushered me in.

“You’re room’s this one!” She gestured to the first one after the bathroom. Its lone window faced the courtyard. “We have heat and our old roommate left their A/C, thank God. It gets really hot in the summer. You’ll see next month.” She smiled cheerily.

“That’s your bed! Feel free to keep it or leave it, whichever you prefer. I washed the sheets the other person left, too. And those small shelves they were gonna get rid of I told them to leave in case you needed them.”

I was glad she did. I shrugged my bags off of my shoulders, trying not to wince, and propped my bike on the wall. “Thanks Jessika –”

“Call me Jess!”

“Okay, yeah, thank you Jess. You guys don’t mind me bringing my bike in here, too?”

She waved a hand. “Not at all. As long as you don’t mind helping us clean every once in a while.”

“Of course not,” I said. I smiled and tried to not look so tired. “Thank you so much, again. I’m… I’m really happy to be here.” It wasn’t a lie, really.

She smiled into her coffee. “We’re happy to have you, Rey.”

And I was happy, too. Happy to ride my adrenaline as long as possible, taking only a quick nap with no blankets atop my new sheets, before setting out again and not wasting any time.

Getting into Manhattan didn’t take as long as I’d expected, though I wouldn’t have minded either way. I left my bike in the apartment, unwilling to try to brave the busy streets just yet. I took one of the two trains nearby, the one that went above ground. I avoided pressing my face to the glass, but I did turn in my seat to look out the window at the cars crammed together on the pink bridge and the East River twinkling down below.

I had met eyes with a child doing what I restrained myself from. Two little rounds hands braced themselves on the glass, looking out, while their mother held them around their waist for balance. I couldn’t help smiling despite the weariness weighing under my eyes and the child’s cheeks bunched, mirroring mine.

I worked from east to west, handing my resume to every restaurant in both villages where there wasn’t a creepy, greasy haired manager asking to sit and chat, only sparing the resume in my hand a single glance.

Though I veered away from the places with peeling floor tiles and a harried staff, I also kept away from others. Some I didn’t even pass the threshold. I simply stood outside, flanked by ivy that crawled up and down the brick exterior, peering in. My legs still burned. My knees shook as I propped myself on the glass.

Servers wearing white button ups. Bartenders in red, well-fitting jackets. Tiny plates, full glasses of wine, and the _people_. This was just their lunch. The hand I had put on the glass to keep me steady left a foggy, oily print as I pulled it away, obscuring the beauty inside.

I had run out of resumes very quickly and didn’t want to reduce my options by showing up somewhere empty handed. I found a dollar slice on sixth, comparing it to what I’d had back at home. It was decent. Then I coasted down the street to a Starbucks, ordering whatever version of a Red Eye they had, the barista eying me strangely over the envelope I produced my cash from, and scanned the internet for other job openings.

My phone had remained silent since I’d arrived that morning. I’d forced it out of my mind.

Jessika had asked me what work I was looking for and recommended me websites. ‘Craigslist’ threw me for a loop, having only associated it with sketchy offerings of ‘Men With Trucks’ to dispose of ‘anything at all, no questions asked,’ but Vober had backed her up. Emerging at noon from his room, he’d patted the couch that he sat on eating cereal, flecks of almond milk falling into his red beard, boasting pridefully about the deal he’d gotten on it. I trusted it after that. It really was a nice couch.

So I scanned Craigslist and as my Red Eye diminished my hands shook harder, feeling more and more discouraged as the hours passed.

_2 years of NYC experience required … Food Handler’s License … 3 years New York City Service Industry experience required …_ I shut my ACER laptop, feeling self-conscious of the extent that I’d loitered, and went home.

The place that responded to my email was one of the last ones I’d shot off before leaving the coffee shop four days ago. I’d been counting. It was hard not to when each day Jessika left for work and Vober for class, and I was left alone again. The ad they’d listed asked for ‘adequate experience’ but didn’t exactly specify what that meant. It was in the East Village and looked rather small, but the photos of the exterior showed packs of people, smushed all the way up to the windows.

I poked my head out of my room. Vober was smoking a bowl on the couch and Jessika was finishing up some work on her laptop. It was a Thursday evening and both of them were done for the day. I’d begun to read their routines even if we didn’t talk much, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. My sleep schedule had been off since my trip, finding me wired late at night while they were both asleep.

“Hey, have either of you guys ever been to ‘Orchards?’”

Vober shook his head, more intent on Games of Thrones on the smallish plasma screen. _Our_ smallish plasma screen. That’s what Jessika had called it.

“I haven’t, but I’ve heard its really good! They have a good happy hour I think,” Jessika said.

“Does it look busy? Have you seen it?”

She nodded sagely. “Really busy. I’ve _tried_ to go to their happy hour, but it’s always packed. I’ve had to leave ‘cus there’s no room.”

I felt giddy. I bounced on my toes a bit, rereading the email again.

“Why? Are you trying to go?” She leaned forward in her seat.

“No – well, not no. But I have an interview for a serving position there.” Jessika gasped and clapped.

“Oh, Rey, that’s so great! That would be a _perfect_ place for you!” I wondered how she’d know that, but she continued, “There’s a bunch of young people there, the foods really cute and looks delicious, and it’s in such a good area! I’m always in that neighborhood on the weekends. Are you excited?”

At Jessika’s appraisement, my chest began to flutter, and I gripped my laptop tighter. If it was so good, why would they offer _me_ an interview? I didn’t even have New York experience. I had _oil_ under my nails. It didn’t make sense.

But in the photos on their website, everyone looked so happy. They weren’t all professional photos. Many were ones that guests took and the restaurant had reposted. All the servers were laughing. Big smiles on their faces as they tipped wine into glasses from way up high, arms fully extended, with such ease. My breath came fast.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m excited,” I said. “This place looks great.”

They both congratulated me again, then I tucked myself back in my room to send a response, but not before scanning and editing it several times over.

_Dear Amilyn,_

_Thank you so much for your email! I am eager to meet you and am available as early as tomorrow and will remain so for the rest of the week. Please let me know what works best for you and I will be there. Thank you again!_

_All my best,_

_Rey_

*

I arrived at _Orchards_ the following day at 3:00pm per Amilyn’s request. Panes of stained glass lined the door, refracting onto the floor when I went inside. The bar was dewy with polish. I shifted on my toes and craned my neck, trying to catch sight of someone. The place looked empty. It was a long setup, starting with a bar, stretching way back to a room that was bordered at the back by a garden. The path was broken up on the right by a what looked like a kitchen. I saw the exhaust hoods past the bar.

The walls were all wood and brick, with a few plants tumbling their leaves down from where they hung near the ceiling. It looked like ivy. There weren’t any table clothes though. My breathing slowed a bit.

I pulled at the sleeve of my collared shirt. Still, no one had shown up. Worried that I’d walked through the wrong doors, despite have checked ten times, I started to turn back the way I came.

“Rey?” I whipped around. A willowy woman with a shock of purple hair stood at the edge of a booth where she had been partially hidden. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting!”

I met her outstretched hand. “I wasn’t waiting! I couldn’t really see anyone, so I just hung out over here,” I chuckled awkwardly. Over her narrow shoulder, I saw a man with red hair watching our exchange from the shiny open kitchen.

“No worries at all. You wanna follow me so we can chat?” She led me straight towards the room with the small garden. I felt the redhead’s eyes on me where he was bent over a cutting board. The air felt lighter in this room and, though Amilyn held herself with command and confidence, her wine-colored turtleneck brushing against her neon curls helped me to relax.

She sat down at a corner table and gestured to the chair across from her. Its surface was a dark brown wood, almost black. I felt like I could fall into it. The whole place felt like what I’d imagined sitting in front of a stone fireplace might.

Amilyn leaned one elbow on the table. “So, Rey, tell about your experience before this? What was it like? Service wise? And how you felt about it, too. Gimme the low down.” I pulled out another copy of my resume that I’d made on Jessika’s printer and answered her question as primly as I could. I was grateful I’d cleaned under my fingernails earlier this morning. My hands wanted to fidget in my lap.

She looked at my resume occasionally, but she spent most of her time with her cheek in her palm, maintaining eye contact, and listening. My body melted into the back of the chair over time and eventually we were laughing over the messy practice of me having to call every dish individually on the line when I wanted it fired at the diner, sometimes ten and twenty minutes apart from each other depending on the pickup length. I’d managed to master it, but it took me several months. I was grateful for my math and science-oriented brain in that regard.

By the time a peel of our laughter had tapered off, Amilyn was looking at me with a glint in her eye. I tried to place it, but I didn’t want to stare at her too long. I wasn’t trying to challenge her, so I looked fondly over her shoulder at the garden in the back. So much green.

“Well, Rey, that was very helpful. I want you to know that we don’t have back-waiters or bussing staff,” she said. I refrained from mentioning I didn’t know what a back-waiter was. “And, we do all of the walking of food ourselves, but you’re no stranger to that. But we don’t do any large tray pickups, just three-plate-carrys and small trays for the ‘small bites.’” I nodded along. “That being said, we’d love to have you trail at the pass to see what the food is like and give you the opportunity to try a few things.” She wiggled her shoulders like she was sharing gossip. “Do you know your upcoming availability?”

She was giving me the opportunity to amend what I’d said in my email. That I was “completely available” and “very eager” in case I’d gotten a multitude of other offers that I was debating between. I hadn’t, and I wouldn’t have accepted them.

“I can come in tomorrow?” I offered.

Amilyn’s eyes widened a bit. “You don’t mind coming on a Friday?” The question hung in the space between us and I barreled through it.

“Not at all. I’d love to see more.” I bit my tongue, repressing my desire to squeal.

“And we’d love to have you,” she said. Her blue eyes softened into a small puddle, and I couldn’t help but look at my lap. “Come in tomorrow. Our dress code is relatively lax. T-shirts and jeans or pants. Whatever you’re more comfortable with. Same time okay?”

“Same time’s okay.”

We shook hands again and I asked her to point me towards the restroom on my way out, looking for somewhere to gather myself. I looked in the mirror after washing my hands. Glass reflected in glass. I smiled and turned on the sink so I could sniffle unheard. Then I tilted my head back to direct the moisture back behind my eyes. In the mirror, I seemed closer to normal.

I was looking at the hem of my dress pants, the too-short one’s I would definitely be throwing in the garbage when I got home, then looked up to see a large man partially hidden in the dish pit. He was washing his hands, the large knuckles rolling over each other. Only half of his face was visible, but a red bandana pulled black hair back from a pale face to reveal a scar. It stretched from over his eyebrow and disappeared in his black shirt. It was similar to the redhead’s white one with little snap buttons. It strained against his chest.

The redhead glanced at me again from the corner of his eye. I ducked away, hiding my blush. Waving at Amilyn where she was perched at her laptop, I passed the booths, the glossy bar, and pushed through the stained-glass door.

I spent time roving around the neighborhood, looking into the little coffee shops and assessing the aromas outside the small, neighborhood spots. Particularly the ones that were open into the early hours of the morning. More often than not, I’d sit down for an employee meal after my late-night shifts at Maz’s. I could get hangry after a long night. I had gotten used to feeling that emptiness, but I avoided it when it could be helped. At a busy corner, I noted a taco truck that already had a line outside of it as the two women inside set up. I eyed the prices listed on the outside, keeping it in mind for later.

When I got home, I told Jessika my news. Her smile was brilliant, seeping with joy for me. But her eyes. They looked so much like Amilyn’s at one point. They pooled with something that I couldn’t place earlier. With the repetition, though, I understood it in Jessika’s.

Approval. Their eyes shone with approval.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> too buzzed on basque cider to do it rn, but a sweet soul told me how to hyper link. will fix tm :) enjoy this big guy

The next day saw me waking up early, my body vibrating with nerves. My first instinct was to pull my phone out from under my pillow and check it. Still nothing. Coming on five days’ worth of nothing. Out of sight out of mind.

I sprung up with Jessika to not linger on these thoughts. When she noticed me, she doubled the servings in her coffee pot. I’d done a bit of grocery shopping after I’d gotten home last night. Pasta, a small jar of sauce, eggs, wheat bread, and bananas. I could make that much last a week. My room was already starting to get warm, so I stored all of these in one of the kitchen cabinets. I broke a banana off while Jessika poured coffee out for me.

“Oh, you bought more?”

“More?”  
  


“Yeah! I mean, we have some already,” she pointed to a bunch that were on the verge of browning. “Me and Vober usually share, ‘cus our schedules are weird, and we don’t want anything to go bad. You’re welcome to as well.”

“Oh,” I said around a bite. I’d grabbed one that was too green, and it was tougher to chew. I washed it down with some coffee, occupying my mouth with things other than an answer.

“Unless you don’t want to,” she continued. “You don’t have to. I just wanted to offer.” I wasn’t looking at her face, but I could hear her cheeriness deflate.

“No, no, I appreciate it. I’ll remember that next time,” I said, cringing at another bite. “I’ll grab a riper one tomorrow.”

“I would love that for you,” she chuckled.

While she got ready for work, I rolled my bike into the living room. I hadn’t touched it since I got here, but after that length of a ride it would need tuning up before I could take it back out. I wrapped my arms and got my gloves.

The chain was hanging precariously low. I worked on tightening it. The duct tape on the seat would have to be replaced, too. It was a fraying mess. The white foam was springing out of the top. No wonder I’d felt like I had rug burn on my ass for two days.

I was cutting the tape from the seat gently to avoid ripping out the interior cushion when Jessika passed me on her way out. She was dressed smart. A blazer and pressed pants, but with her personality shining through her yellow blouse. I smiled at her.

“I’m off! Good luck tonight. Woohoo, get that job, Rey! Killin’ it!” The door slammed behind her. “Absolutely crushing it!” filtered up as she bounded down the stairs. I chuckled. She was growing on me.

I needed more time before I could get on my bike. My ass still hurt, and I felt like I couldn’t trust my legs yet. They felt narrow and coltish like I was learning to walk again. I figured I could plot my route into Manhattan when I thought I’d be able to make it. Even after what I’d done, I was still nervous to take that step.

Roving the streets in my neighborhood, I took my time to admire it like I had after my interview yesterday. I finally didn’t have anything to do. Not until later. The lack of obligations did something to my body. A hollowness shimmied its way in. My heart stuttered. I walked faster.

The neighborhood felt like just that. A neighborhood. Families held hands as the crossed the streets in long links like those little paper people I remembered making in elementary school. There was the supermarket I went to the other day, as well as a few smaller shops about the size of the bodega. I’d taken Spanish in high school, so I read all of the small bags of dried chilis, whole seeds, and other spices and kept them in mind for later.

A coffee shop closer to the above ground train boasted the beans they brewed in the window, and beyond that, two men with beanies folded above their ears talked over black coffees. A cackle flew from my throat and I squinted at them, letting their blurred silhouettes become mirrors of each other.

I kept going. Time got away from me. That, too, was a feeling I wasn’t used to. In the past, that had meant that events, whole conversations, celebrations, sex, got away from me too, only resurfacing in unwelcome moments of déjà vu. But now, it was because the small, quaint window boxes on Linden St were so beautifully tended that I had stopped to admire every single one of them. Each bloom, each unopened bud. Those for longer, because the sun was so strong, and I wondered at each of them what took so long for them to open.

“Open, I know you can,” I whispered at one. The hollow feeling returned, and I turned down the street at the next corner. I told myself that it wasn’t also mixed with a bit of hunger that I’d need to distract myself from.

I’d spent enough time in the sun so far that I wasn’t worried about burning my skin. It warmed my shoulders as it arched across the sky. My tank top gave it room to. And my buns. The back of my neck felt a bit prickly where my hair was lifted away. It felt like a new hand had settled over the skin. Despite the heat, I shivered.

There were several thrift stores around. One, I just poked my head in. I was in and out in less than a minute when I checked the price tag on an old sweatshirt. It read fifty dollars. _Fifty,_ for something second-hand. I took one look at the person behind the register. A guy with a shaved head, like the ones at the coffee shop but without the beanie, was scrolling through his phone. He had tattoos peeking out of the neck of his long-sleeved shirt. I shivered again, realizing _that_ was probably why he was cranking the air conditioning. I gave him a half-smile as I walked out.

Eventually, I found a storefront that had several odds and ends scattered in its window, showing off its range of eccentricities. A few plates, pretty retro in different colors of jewel-toned glass. Literally street signs. A ship in a bottle and a Barbie doll in its original packaging. It wore tan overalls and a small toolbox sat at her sneakered feet. Complete with a wrench, screwdrivers, and a tire jack. Barbie car sold separately.

I looked at her for a long moment. Her pearly smile with pink glossed lips splitting to show them off. Her blonde hair was down, hanging almost to her waist. The fair skin even looked pristine. I guessed the motor oil and WD-40 was sold separately, too.

I was in awe of her. She could do anything, Barbie could. Any profession at all. She was a doctor, a baker, a mechanic, a mother…it confused me. I stood there for a long time, just looking at her and all of her potential.

At one point I checked my phone, looking or hoping for a barrage of missed calls and pleading voicemails.

“Oh, shit.” I spun on my heel and jogged back to the apartment. I had just enough time to go back and get ready, and hopefully arrive at _Orchards_ five minutes early.

I scrubbed the lengths of my arms in the sink, unwrapping them and digging oil from my nails. Then I threw away my dress pants. The small, worn spots where I’d scrubbed stains from them in the sink between class and Maz’s looked almost bleached. They made no sound when I tossed them out, then I deliberated over my two pairs of jeans and my six t-shirts.

What had Amilyn been wearing? A nice turtleneck. It looked really soft; a bit thin. And a pair of flared pants. And loafers. So _cool._ But she was also the GM and I was training for a serving job.

I went with a white t-shirt and my black pants, along with my favorite pair of socks. Neon stripes that were only just visible around my ankles. They peaked out of my yellow high-top sneakers. That part was easy. I stowed my smallest notebook and pen into my backpack next to my water bottle.

The train ride was smooth. I lived far enough out that I’d landed a seat, but already people were dressed up for a cool, summer, Friday night. By the time we were three stops away, the train was packed. A group of women stood in front of me, huddled around a pole, all gripping it with their painted fingernails. They had just gotten on. Each wore a light jacket, a few were leather, thrown over their tank tops and jeans. Another wore a denim jacket, carefully rumpled and distressed in spots. They leaned in close towards each other, sharing quiet words and cackling over loud obscene things in the middle of the crowded train. I wondered what they felt they had to whisper when they were so comfortable saying everything else. Then one shared a water bottle with the others, and another doled out several sticks of gum. I thought of Jessika, then. And more, for some reason, when one leaned her head on another’s shoulder as we bumped along.

Sidewalks here were more trafficked than my neighborhood. I’d noticed this the other day. My body felt it more. People bumped into me, sharing their sweat and breath, their eagerness to get home, the jokes they’d meant for their friends, but had given to me also. My shoulders shrunk in towards my chest and I balled my fists. I didn’t know what to make of all of the excitement. The amount of life each person carried with them and let pinball into someone else so carelessly. My heart started to beat fast. If another person touched me, I’d hit them. I was almost at the restaurant and needed to calm down.

Luckily, the sidewalk crowd thinned as I moved further from the train. My shoulders straightened again. I tilted my chin back, trying to practice carrying myself taller. Amilyn was so tall. So was the redhead I’d seen staring. Even the man, the scarred one I’d only glanced at, looked so _large._ I’d never felt big, but I certainly wasn’t small. I needed to make sure they knew that.

As I neared the first window to _Orchards,_ I checked my phone. I didn’t want to get there too early. I had ten minutes still and I only just realized that I hadn’t eaten. I’d normally for-go it but being hangry when trying to make a good impression didn’t seem like the best move. I spotted a deli at the corner and slipped inside.

I grabbed an apple, one of those sickly sweet French vanilla coffees from the fridge, and then bent over at the counter to assess their Sourpatch candies. I was biting the tip of my finger and trying to decide if fifty cents was enough of a difference to pick for me between the Sourpatch Kids and the Watermelons when someone cleared their throat over my shoulder. I shot up and stepped to the side, away from the register. 

“You’re not in line?” A deep voice asked. It shot down my tailbone and back to my head, quick enough to make me a little dizzy.

“O-oh, no. Not yet. Big decisions here,” I said, a little breathless, and feebly pointed to the candies. I cleared my throat.

I heard a chuckle, and my cheeks burned. I kept my eyes down, avoiding the source of my rapid onslaught of embarrassment. Then the air shifted around me as a hand, a _big_ hand, reached around my left side and tapped the Kids with one, thick finger.

“I’d go for the ‘Kids’,” he mumbled. Warm breath skipped over the shell of my ear and twisted in the hair loosened from my buns. “These definitely sell out faster than the other ones. Those,” he indicated the Watermelons, “are likely about three years old.” The back of his hand crisscrossed with veins, up his wrist, to what I could see of his forearms. I found myself chuckling, studying the lattice under his skin.

“That settles it.” I picked the Kids and placed all three of my purchases on the counter, pulling cash from my wallet. “Thank you,” I said, finally glancing over my shoulder.

First, I noticed a black cotton shirt, with little snap buttons just holding it together across a broad chest. A handful of herbs were in his opposite fist. Then, a scar, curling itself up and out of that shirt, caressing his collarbone and then the lines of his angular face. The half of the face that I had seen only yesterday. But now, here was the whole thing. The starkness of his features was softened by a red bandana pulling black hair away from his face and the warm, almond shaped eyes that crinkled just slightly as he said, “Anytime.”

A throat clear in front of me made me whip my head back around, counting my bills quickly and depositing them on the counter. I shoved the treats into my backpack and turned, whispering, ‘see you’ and fast walked out the door.

I took a moment, flattening myself to the wall outside _Orchards_ and hugging my backpack to my chest. Why had I done that? Why did I run away? I was about to _see_ that man again. Could I have made it any more awkward?

But he hadn’t seen me yesterday. He had no idea we’d be in on the same building in the next few minutes. Unless he caught a glance at me before I’d left the day before, I was just any other girl. I patted my buns self-consciously, regretting how conspicuous they were again.

But if he’d noticed them a few minutes ago, he would have recognized me. He would’ve said something. Or maybe not. New Yorkers were different. I’d already learned that much. Jersey people were rough, loud, uncouth, and angry. But they also _knew_ you. They always remembered your face, no matter where you first saw them. I’d gotten in a few fights, mostly in high school but a few later when someone I’d snuffed in the past saw me at a party or one of the rare times I went to a bar. My town was small. I’d seen the same person more than once in the same day on several different occasions.

One time, someone familiar nearly clipped me on the road and I had chased them up to a red light, dragging my house keys along the side of their shitty Nissan Altima. Later that night, at a house-party with people from high school, he showed up and pointed right at me from across the room. I knew him. He’d been on the varsity soccer team. That summer, he was fucking around town for a few months before he went back to whatever out of state college he attended. He had time and energy to blow, and I thought I saw steam come out of his ears when he shouted, “you’re _dead,_ Niima!”

It wasn’t a fair fight from the beginning. A guy beating up on a girl at a party was bad taste all around. Even the former football players thought so before they realized they would have to pull _me_ off of _him_ and not the other way around.

I remembered that fight. My first vodka lemonade had already been downed and I was halfway through a second, feeling the gentle buzz that lulled me to the peak of confidence, so I wasn’t forgone enough to forget. Not the right hook I’d landed as soon as he charged at me, nor the left one after he’d crashed to the floor and I straddled his chest to keep up the barrage.

Eventually, D.O. pulled me off the kid. I knew it was him because he’d had the same tattoo wrapping around his bicep since we were sixteen. Evan. That was the other kid’s name. I only remembered it once blood was steadily gushing from his nose. Both of his hands wrapped around it, and his eyes were wide as he watched me get hauled away kicking at the air.

Evan had recognized me. D.O., too. But they were from back home, and even if I hated the former and was indifferent to the latter, they were my people, and I at least understood them. I didn’t know what to make of that man. The new one. I didn’t know if he’d noticed me before or not. I guessed I’d have to find out.

I steadied my breath and checked the time again. I’d have to save my snacks for later. Turning towards the glass-paneled door, I marched in without looking back.

*

Kaydel was showing me how to set up for the evening. Her long, blonde hair was in two braids down her back and they swung as she looked from me to the tasks she showed me how to complete. I scanned the room once or twice while she talked. There was another server, a tall woman with white blonde hair. I wasn’t introduced to her directly, but her name was Phasma, and she was the head server.

“She’ll be training you if you do well today,” Kaydel said. The combination of “ _if_ ” and Phasma’s steely eyes locked on the wine glass she was polishing, scanning for the tiniest water marks to buff out, made me shudder.

I’d resolutely not looked towards the kitchen since I started trailing. It would only be a matter of time though, because Amilyn said I would be watching food come out at the pass while Kaydel ran it. I figured it didn’t hurt to procrastinate my shame as long as I was asking questions and helping her when she asked me to. But the only things she really asked of me were basically every detail about my life.

“Where are you from? Is New Jersey like what people say it is? I like your socks. Where did you work before? Did you work late-night shifts? What’s your favorite diner food? Do you have any allergies? I like your sneakers, too. Your feet will hurt later though. Do you have a girlfriend? Do you have a partner? Do you have a _boy_ friend?” The last one was said with a bit of disdain, but she softened at my answer. I had a hard time keeping up with her and she didn’t even give me a chance to ask her anything about herself. I was out of breath just from answering.

Insisting that I didn’t do much actual work since I was not yet getting paid, I watched her fill water bottles behind the bar where she introduced me to Finn. After wiping his hands on the rag tucked in his back pocket, cleaning them of the limes he was juicing, he shook my hand vigorously.

“Hey, I’m Finn,” he repeated, accompanied by one of the warmest smiles I’d ever seen.

I squeezed his hand in return, letting myself share in the hum that was his presence for a moment. “I’m Rey.”

“She’s from New Jersey,” Kaydel threw over her shoulder from where she was still filling waters. That would apparently be our topic of conversation.

“New Jersey?” Finn said, smirking and wrinkling his nose.

“Don’t,” I said, holding up a hand and letting a smile creep in. “No one’s allowed to talk smack unless they’re from there. We have enough to say about it as it is.”

Finn held up his hands with a playful smile that mirrored my own. “I didn’t say a thing. I’ve just met some Jersians before, _obviously_ ,” he drawled. I puffed up again, and he held up his own hand. “I won’t talk smack if you don’t, ‘cus I know you’ve got it in you.” I laughed hard, harder than I had in a while. It nearly knocked the wind out of me. If I was to work with Finn and Kaydel, I’d have to start doing breathing exercises so I wouldn’t faint in the middle of service. “Truce?” Finn stuck out his hand to me again.

I took it and squeezed his palm playfully, making my intentions clear. “Truce.”

The pass was a shiny marble countertop that came to my hips. One side was for the expo’s set of tickets and the other for the chef. The expo was to mark the tickets to mirror the chef so that any staff that walked by could know what was fired and ask to fire dishes if they needed them. A lot of the language was new to me, but I’d been doing this long enough that I was a quick study and caught on to the new vocabulary, though it was hard to picture the system as Kaydel described it.

“It’ll make more sense once service starts,” she assured me.

Under the pass were two little shelves that looked straight back into the kitchen and all of its super shiny appliances. Kaydel had just finished showing me how to make little towels that were used to clean the edges of plates. They were carefully soaked in vinegar, rolled, and cut. I tried to hide my surprise at the attention to detail. Now she was showing me what lay on the shelves and what everything was used for. I could see the legs of the kitchen staff filter in and out as they carried up supplies from the prep kitchen down the stairs and to the right.

I had avoided eye contact with the redhead while Kaydel rolled the towels, which was easy enough because he did not acknowledge either of us, but I had smiled when Kaydel bantered with the other two women who were also setting up to his right. They all talked and asked questions of each other about their days off and other inconsequential things. Kaydel was the loudest, but the girl at the far end of the kitchen with bangs and a big smile was equally animated. The girl in the middle smirked a lot and quipped between them from time to time. I knew what they were doing, offering up questions and information that they likely already knew about each other while in close proximity to me. They were trying to make me feel included. I had been content just to listen to them. There hadn’t been a lot of girls my age at the diner.

Kaydel was pointing at some larger plates that lay on the top shelf, eye level with where we were crouching.

“Chef uses these for the mushroom dish. They look really pretty fanned out with the egg yolk in the middle. Hi, Ben. But we also use them for private dinners in the back as share plates.”

The “Ben” she spoke of was a pair of thick calves dressed in black jeans that appeared just on the other side of the shelves, tucked into black boots. They had a thick rubber sole on the bottom, waterproof and slip proof. They were remarkably clean for kitchen shoes.

“Hey, Kaydel,” a deep voice mumbled above us. I froze, staring at his knees. I knew that voice. Now I knew his name. Kaydel continued on as if my heart wasn’t literally lodged in my throat.

There were plates, little tiny ones that she said were used for single piece canapes. They were extremely cute, in different bright colors. I tried to focus on them and the other materials Kaydel was telling me about. She was twirling the end of one braid around her finger, gushing about how _delish_ the pintxos were when she went Spain when Ben crouched down across from us. He pulled a yellow legal pad off the shelf and began crossing items off of a list.

Kaydel stuck her head in the space between the two shelves. “’Sup!”

Ben breathed out through his nose quick, in what could have been a laugh. “Careful, Kaydel, or you’ll get stuck again.” She blew a raspberry but pulled her head out anyway.

“That only happened ‘cus I was stoned. I forgot I could turn my head sideways.” Stoned? At work?

Ben didn’t even look up from his list. My eyes were locked on a small section of hair that escaped from his bandana and curled around his ear. They were big. I hadn’t noticed earlier. They made him look sweeter. “So, you weren’t just stoned,” he said, “you were ripped out of your mind.”

When I snorted into my palm, Ben finally looked up. My face felt like it was boiling. His dark brows drew together, low over his already hooded eyes, parsing my features. Once I lowered my hand, exposing my freckled cheeks, my lips, his brows jumped back towards his forehead. The seconds stretched like a rubber band being pulled taught. I didn’t want to let it snap. To let the strange connection brand me. Ben was bolder. A roguish smirk graced his mouth.

“Hey, _Kid,_ ” he said in his honey-voice. Hazel eyes skirted curiously across my face.

For some reason, that irritated me. I knew he was talking about the candy, but I wasn’t a ‘kid.’ Not when he flirted with me in the deli. I wasn’t a ‘kid’ when his breath brushed over the back of my neck. I wasn’t a ‘kid’ now, not with that glint in his eyes and the twist of his lips.

“Hey… _parsley_ ,” I said, lamely. I couldn’t muster the bite I wanted. I felt out of my element, bickering with someone I did not know who kept looking at me like _that_.

His jaw dropped for a moment, though his lips were still quirked. “ _Cilantro_ ,” he said. My eyebrows drew together.

“What –.”

“Family’s up!” Someone shouted from above us. The pull of his eyes on me broke and Ben straightened up without another word. Only then was I aware of Kaydel’s gaze nearly melting the skin off my face.

“What was _that_?” She asked, smiling mischievously. She’d already begun scratching my surface, but this seemed like a step that I wasn’t sure I was willing to take. Kaydel was cool, as far as I could tell, and super friendly, but I didn’t know yet what I could and couldn’t say. And if I was being honest, I wouldn’t even know how to describe what she’d just seen.

“I…don’t know.”

Everyone clocked out for family meal. They fed us. For _free._ I didn’t know that. Our break was a half hour. Kaydel showed me how to clock out with her number. Then we all lined up at the wide ledge that bordered the kitchen. It was laden with food. Tortillas, pulled pork, pico de gallo, radishes, limes, pickled peppers, guacamole, crumbly queso and cilantro lined its surface.

Cilantro. _Oh_.

“This meal looks delicious, ladies,” Phasma said, her accented voice addressing the two women in the kitchen. She was in front of Kaydel, who was in front of me. Amilyn had already made her plate and was sitting at the bar to eat, concentrating on her computer.

“I made the guac,” the redhead piped up from where he was chopping. I saw Ben look over his shoulder with an eyebrow raised.

“Cool, Hux,” Phasma said, staring at the redhead blankly. His pinched face glared at her, then returned to his chopping.

“Be nice,” a new voice piped up. It was a man about my height with charming, dark curls. He was dressed smartly in a blue band collared shirt and khakis. I smiled at his high-top sneakers, wiggling my toes in my own shoes. As he filed behind me in line, he smiled, showing off his perfect teeth.

“You must be Rey,” he said, offering his hand which I shook. “I’m Poe. Manager and Private Events Coordinator.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“You also! We’re stoked to have you. Hopefully, this place won’t be too much of a shock. My first job was at a diner, too. I know you’ll do fine.”

“Thank you,” I said softly. I felt something freeze in my chest and heat in my gut at his confidence. Confidence in _me_. I didn’t know what to do with my body until Kaydel stepped forward.

I filled my plate similarly to hers. Two tacos. “I’ll probably come back for more,” she whispered.

It seemed like all of the front of house staff sat at one booth, save Amilyn, while back of house sat at the one next to us. At first, I was hyper-aware of the speed of my eating. Then I saw that Kaydel was already asking Finn to scoot out so she could go back for more when I was only one taco in. I finished my second one in two bites.

Everyone talked around full mouths, foregoing manners and politeness while they could. When Phasma tried to ask Poe a service question, Finn and Kaydel both put a finger to their lips and made “shh!” noises until Kaydel was red in the face and Finn fell over onto her shoulder. She looked peeved, but accepted defeat. The back of house table was quieter, but I heard the two women giggle over the back of my seat. I knew because I was listening intently for a baritone to penetrate the quiet.

Once clocked back in, expo was supposed to clean and box food for the servers that came in later. A small portion of pulled chicken was set aside for the closer, which Kaydel made into two tacos and wrapped.

“Does Paige want a box, Rose?” The girl with the bangs nodded, her mouth full. Kaydel made another plate with the pulled pork.

“Five o’clock, guys,” Poe called, waving us up to the bar with a stack of papers in his hands. We all sat around the corner and Poe passed the paper’s down, handing me an extra one made of cardstock. It was the menu, and it was very small. I turned it over to look at the drinks.

“First off, we’ve got a light cover count. Sixty-eight tonight. What are you doing, Finn?” Poe asked because Finn whipped out his phone so fast, I heard a joint crack. He was typing furiously where he stood behind the bar.

“I’m making it my job to get one more person to make a reservation tonight.” Poe stared at him, trying not to smile and failing. “By all means, continue.”

“Right. No VIPs or HWCs. Memorial Day Weekend, so it was to be expected. So, if we have any service goals tonight, it’s to make Rey feel welcome, and answer all of her questions if she has any.” I’d been scribbling on my paper, taking notes. I glanced up to smile at everyone. “Any menu changes, chef?”

“Nothing brand new,” Ben began. I looked up from my paper and listened. “This is a good night to observe tables and get feedback from them. Not just verbal, but how they handle plates, if they’re looking messy, if things look like they need different utensils, et cetera. Let me know what looks like it’s not being touched on a plate. I know garlic scapes are a hard sell, but there’s always a way to convince people.” He was looking at his own menu, one elbow leaning on the bar and propping up his chin. Some of his moles and beauty marks were smushed towards his eyes by his fist.

“Great,” Poe said, taking charge again. “I’d say the same for the new cocktails. I know Finn and Paige just put in a lot of work towards warm weather suited drinks, so try to see what’s selling better, and if you can entice people to branch out to others. Also, wine sales. They’re looking low, which I think can and should change. It’s getting hot. Just recommend starting with a bottle of pet-nat as soon as you touch tables. Make the guests not even have to think about it.” Everyone nodded at that. “Any shout outs?”

“I know she’ll probably mention it when she gets here,” Rose said from the end of the bar closer to the kitchen, “but Paige passed her first level somm exam.” Everyone whooped and talk of celebrating and buying her drinks floated through the air.

“Anything from you, Amilyn?”

She finally pulled her eyes from her laptop. “I’m actually buying wine right now. I’m looking to get more variety in a more approachable price range. If there’s anything you guys have been asked for by guests or think would do well, let me know in the next few days.” Then she began scrolling again.

“Great, so if that’s all, it’s time.” Poe leaned towards me and put a two-minute timer on his phone. “Rey. It’s tradition that we ask new people as many questions as we can in two minutes. Nothing prying, just basics like favorite foods and stuff. You game?” I nodded, eager for the challenge. “Alright. In three…two…one…go!”

“Favorite ice cream flavor?”

“Strawberry.”

“Astrological sign!”

“Aries!”

“Age?”

“Twenty-two.”

“What’d you study in school?”

“Mechanical engineering.”

“Favorite wine!”

“Uh, white?”

“Favorite book?”  
  


“…’Pride and Prejudice.’”

“Favorite Jersey food?”  
  


“Pork roll!”

“ _Taylor Ham_ ,” a deep voice tried to correct me. The questions stopped.

I met Ben’s eyes. “ _Pork roll_ ,” I repeated.

“…Taylor Ham.” He was leaning forward on the bar.

“Pork roll.” I ground my teeth.

“Taylor. Ham.”

A deep breath dragged through my nose. “ _Pork –!_ ”

“That’s time!” Poe shouted. I realized my fists were clenched. I opened them and felt the blood flow back to my fingertips. Ben had a look of triumph on his face. I narrowed my eyes.

“Seems we already have a rivalry!” Finn said, clapping and rubbing his hands together.

“Something like that,” Ben said. He gave me a once over.

“Looks like it, _chef_.” Ben huffed, again, not quite a laugh.

Though I didn’t argue, I knew what just between us wasn’t the beginnings of a rivalry. Not exactly. I thought of the looks we shared, particularly the first one, when I had been a ‘nobody’ to him. Just a girl in a bodega. When our paths had not truly crossed. That folded into what had transpired when I saw him again couldn’t be reduced to a rivalry. I glanced in his direction, but he’d already been looking.

No, this was something _else_.

Poe checked the time. “Alright guys. That’s all. Let’s have a good service!” And everyone dispersed. I followed Kaydel to the pass with my papers and pen. They already had a good deal of writing scribbled onto them. I tried to leave enough space for what I was sure to learn over the next few hours.

*

The first hour was rather slow, though enjoyable. They had a happy hour special that included canapes, so I saw the range of those in that period of time, and each time one was ordered, Ben fired a second one for me to taste. Despite everyone’s distinct personalities and carefree attitudes, they handled food and service with care, including Kaydel, and Ben most of all.

Ben inspected aach dish that came out. Hux was in the position just behind him, plating food as it was ready. A sour look was plastered on his face as he did so. The lines of it grew deeper each time he handed off a plate to Ben. Early on Kaydel explained that Hux was sous chef and Ben was chef de cuisine directly above him. They switched on and off, one manning the pass one day while the other plated and vice versa. Apparently, Hux didn’t like this arrangement, and had no qualms about letting his displeasure be known.

“He’s a baby, but he lightens up sometimes,” Kaydel mumbled. Then Ben put one of the small, cute dishes in front of me with half of a little sandwich. The other half he slipped to Kaydel.

“Soft-shell crab sandwich with a snowy cabbage spicy slaw, ramp butter, and a ‘Martin’s’ potato bun.

“In _this_ house,” Kaydel said intensely, “we _only_ eat ‘Martin’s’ buns.” Then she scooped up her half for a bite. “God, I love trails.” She stopped at Ben’s looked. He was pointing to the corner by the stairs with an eyebrow raised. “Oh, _fine_ ,” she said and went to hide herself while she ate. “Corner!”

“Kaydel eats at the pass in front of guests. Don’t be like Kaydel,” Ben said. We heard her make an indignant sound from out of sight. He met my eyes. “You’re allowed though. Go ahead, it’s for you.”

I picked up the bite and studied it. Ben started updating his tickets, circling dishes with a marker and calling fires back over his shoulder. The cords of his neck rippled at the edges of his hair as I took a bite –

and _moaned_ as it melted in my mouth. Ben’s head whipped around at the sound, small eyes becoming large and round.

“I hope that means you like it,” he said. I finished chewing and swallowed.

“Mm. I do.” I wiped butter from the corner of my mouth. I saw his eyes flick down then up again. “We have a lot soft-shell crab where I’m from. A lot of seafood actually. But nothing like this. This is much, much better,” I said, and shoved the rest in my mouth. It bulged in my cheeks. I closed my eyes and hummed.

“Hm. From south Jersey and by the shore. That explains a lot.” My eyes cracked open to see him smirking again.

“What’s that supposed to mean? How’d you know I was from the south?”

He held up three fingers. Three very thick fingers that somehow managed to handle food with delicacy and precision.

“One: the _pork roll_ ,” he said with thinly veiled disgust and ticked off a finger. “Two: the seafood. Three: the loudness.” Hazel eyes glinted at me as I glared.

“I’m not loud. Maybe you’re just quiet.”

A broad shoulder shrugged. I wondered how the snaps of his shirt held together through the movement. “I don’t need to be loud. I get what I want just fine at this volume.” I failed to gloss over what that implied. What aggravated me more was that I believed it, but if he wouldn’t stand down, neither would I.

“To me it just sounds like you’re afraid to speak up.” His head jerked back minutely. If I hadn’t been looking, I wouldn’t have noticed. But I had been, so I saw his hair sway, his posture shift, and the muscle under his eye twitch. I saw all of this in my periphery because I refused to give up eye contact. It was like before. We couldn’t shake it. It was almost like magnets. Caught at the wrong angle and they’d repel. But caught at the right one…

But I hadn’t felt repelled and I didn’t think Ben did either. Though it seemed like the same force that pulled us into this dance, pressing us away like we were walking into a gale, was also the same one locking us together. Just like this.

I was starting to anticipate it. This bridging of a gap between us. Each time we came closer. Little by little. Enough to make out a surprised breath and the twitch under an eye. It made me want to charge the gale, the one working against us, even harder.

“Corner! Damn, that crab is _good_ ,” Kaydel said, returning to her place. Ben’s face changed, turning to stone, and broke eye contact to check on the rest of the kitchen. “We haven’t had a trail in a while. It’s refreshing to have a new face,” she said, beaming. “How do you feel so far?”

“Honestly, pretty good.” Which was true. Everyone was so nice and welcoming. Mostly.

Service went on with Kaydel and Ben describing dishes as they came out: what they were walked with, the ingredients, and the allergens, all of which I jotted down on my copy of the menu. And though we didn’t talk at length, Ben continued to give me small, bite sized portions of each dish, offering them to me in the middle of his palm, the tips of my fingers brushing it as I accepted them. A draw, it seemed, for now.

Padron peppers with meyer lemon and sea salt. Whipped cod brandade with toasted baguette. Orecchiette in squid ink with crispy chorizo. Charred octopus with pimento and whole fermented garlic cloves. Prosciutto di parma with freshly shaved ricotta salata. All were delicious and could have been from an alien planet for all I knew. But it was _food,_ so it wasn’t hard to learn, especially when it was in my mouth. I wished I could eat each item over and over again. I wrote down all of this information and savored each bite all while Kaydel tried to make conversation with Ben and the others. It seemed like she was one of the few that could make him talk.

“Are you gonna recommend Amilyn any wines?” She asked.

Ben shook his head. “I’m already in charge of all of this,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder at the kitchen. I saw Hux clench his jaw over Ben’s shoulder. “I don’t believe I need to offer more input into the menu.”

“I want her to get more orange wines. We only have the two, and neither are by the glass. If Poe wants us to sell more wine, we should get some. All of my roommates love it and they don’t even care about food.” Blonde braids swung as she turned to me. “Do you like orange wine, Rey?”

I fidgeted with the corner of my menu. “I don’t even know what that is, to be honest.”

The assurance everyone had in my capabilities, though it confused me, had begun to seep in. I believed I could embody it, for a moment. But to admit, again, that I did not know something, shifted the pieces inside me back to their original order. The proper one. The one that made sense to me.

A plate clinked on the pass and Ben instructed Kaydel where to take it. I watched her go.

“Sounds like you need a teacher,” I heard Ben say. I swung around, mentally putting my dukes up, but they dropped with such speed that my knees almost gave out in real time.

I’d expected a sneer or some other expression of disgust. Or not even that. Maybe just disappointment. Any of them would do. I’d at least know what to say.

Ben’s brows were drawn together, both inquisitive and earnest like the small frown on his lips. His eyes weren’t restless or searing or strange. This was a new look. An open one. An inviting one.

“A teacher?” I asked, trying to sound incredulous, but instead I just sounded curious. I searched his face and I found more beauty marks. New ones. New to me anyway. I tried to tally them, but I kept losing count.

_1, 2, 3…1, 2, 3…_

“Yes,” he said. “I –…We can show you.”

I felt my heart move in my chest. The pieces inside me were shifting again, though differently.

“You have. I mean, you should. And I’d like to learn.”

The frown changed. Both ends of his mouth backtracked up his face. Not a smirk. Not a half-grin either.

Kaydel appeared next to me again. “Well, I could describe it, but that wouldn’t do it justice. There’re so many different ones. Some are really funky, but others are very sweet! You’ll just have to try some, sometime. We can share a bottle!”

Ben made his puff-of-air laugh and I couldn’t help but giggle, too. I was starting to get used to ‘sharing.’

*

I sat at the bar with a cocktail. A good one. Finn and Paige really knew what they were doing. I wasn’t sure what I wanted because I wasn’t sure about sitting at the bar where I wanted to work, but Finn asked me about a hundred questions about ‘flavor profiles’ and then plopped a beautiful beverage in front of me. It was in a tall glass. They had nice, perfectly square ice cubes, and a sprig of rosemary peeked out the top. He said it was a variation on a ‘Tom Collins,’ and I realized I had more to learn than I thought.

Finn must’ve read it on my face because all he said was, “don’t worry, we’ll get there.”

I practiced mouthing the word ‘we’ around my straw, getting a feel for it, and let myself enjoy my drink and not feel guilty. It was easy because it was free. Amilyn left when it slowed for the evening, but Poe told me I was all good for the night and could grab a seat at the bar for a drink on the house. He said he would join me to check in once he took care of some stuff in the office. I didn’t know if that was good or bad and I didn’t feel comfortable enough to ask, but Kaydel smiled at me and Ben nodded when I thanked them for their help, and no one seemed perturbed. So, I let myself enjoy my one drink.

“So, Rey,” Poe appeared and took a seat to my left, clutching what looked like a folder of paperwork in one hand. “How do you feel? How did it go?”

I thought about Kaydel first, of course, and her ability to fill space with her voice in a way so genuine its fast pace could never be a bother more than the sound of your own breath. I thought about the other women in the kitchen, Rose and the girl I learned was Tallie, who kept up with Ben’s fast pace and Hux’s attitude with warmth and grit. I thought about Finn, who asked me the most minute details about the flavors I liked so he could craft me the perfect drink.

I even thought about Ben. Even though everyone’s kindness was welcome, he did not let me forget that I was not shy and delicate, and still offered to teach me after having realized this.

“It went really well,” I told Poe. “I feel like I’ve already learned so much. It’s a big change, but I’m happy for it.”

“That’s great, Rey. I’m glad you think so.” He placed the folder on the bar between us. “That being said, I wanted to offer you the opportunity to train with us, with potential to be hired.”

I smiled so big my cheeks nearly cracked. Poe laughed.

“I suppose that means you accept?”

“Y-yes! Of course. I mean, I would be so happy to!” I said and shook his offered hand. He passed me the folder.

“These are our training documents. Also, paperwork to fill out. We don’t need it immediately. Just by the end of your training, ideally. Our wines, cocktails, our message is all in there. You have some studying to do,” he said the last part wearily.

I shook my head, still smiling. “I don’t mind.”

“Great!” He clapped, then offered his hands, palms up. “So, when would you like to come in to start your training?”

I didn’t miss a beat. “Tomorrow.”


	4. Chapter 3

I had floated home that night. Literally _floated_. Down the sidewalk, though the weekend train traffic, back to my apartment, all while conversing with myself in my head.

_They’re offering me a job._

Well, not technically. Not yet. Though I did make a good impression. A great one. They were invested in me already.

_They’re offering me a job._

Suffice to say I brushed my teeth that night, after waving to Jessika and Vober, and retired to my bed to study, not without frequently searching words as I went, and I didn’t notice my lack of incoming text messages.

*

Trying to get used to riding my bike in new territory, I took it to the nearest park early the next day. I’d given myself enough time to carefully mend the seat with duct tape, though I still spent most of the ride standing up off of it. I was lucky the park was nearby because it didn’t take very long for my knees to wobble.

I settled on a bench with a ripe banana and picked up where I’d left off the night before.

“ _We source our wines mostly, though not exclusively, from France, Spain, Portugal, and Italy. Since the food at_ Orchards _is a conglomerate of inspiration from these countries, it is only fitting that the wine be sourced from them also, as they serve as the best complement to our cuisine. Having recently come under ownership by_ Rebel Restaurant Group…”

I stopped for a moment to search that name, circling it with my pen. The page for the group was elegant, though not too serious. The individual restaurants on the page each had their own distinct personalities, _Orchards_ being the most rustic of them. _Mino_ was their newest restaurant, consisting of a plethora of fish, mostly prepared in a Japanese style. From the looks of it, not many of them had a strict theme, and seemed to fluctuate given what was popular or local. That much was emphasized further in my reading.

“ _…prioritize local produce, fish and meat purveyors, relationships with farmers, as well as the interests of our own staff, who are also abundant resources to us._ ”

I underlined those last few words. I also wrestled with their meaning. “Abundant resources.” Wondering what resources I had to offer, I peeled my banana, took a bite, and checked out my surroundings.

The park was small. Miniscule, really. But there was shrubbery and benches, as well as a little stone statue. Just one large enough to designate it a park. I’d been hearing the rapid chatter of women in English and Spanish behind me. I turned, wrapping my arm around the back of the bench, to see a nail salon. It was a nice day, not too hot with a breeze, so some of them hung by the windows, catching the attention of women they recognized and pulling them into conversation, all while their young daughters stood by dancing on their toes because they were eager to play or go home. My own packet was ruffled in my lap by a stronger gust, so I turned around and gripped it a bit too tightly. I tucked stray strands of hair behind my ears. They’d been licking my eyes and the tearing blurred my readings.

Now that I had to study, I didn’t have time to set aside to explore the rest of the neighborhood. I was anxious to. I wanted to learn my surroundings, to know what to expect. I felt insecure even sitting on this bench without having done so. There just wasn’t time for it yet, though I did need to learn where my nearest bank was and make a deposit sooner or later. Just a small one, like throwing a line out to a glass-still sea, its ripples shattering any illusions that remained.

*

I would later be grateful for having devoted the entirety of my afternoon before training to the food menu, because the team that was Phasma and Hux on a Saturday night was no joke. Neither was particularly good at small talk. That or they just didn’t care. It wasn’t part of the job description between coworkers, despite it being common, but they were not necessarily ‘common’ folk.

I learned that Phasma had been in the industry for twelve years, working at the highest tier restaurants in New York, all the way up to three Michelin stars. I was only impressed by that later when I asked Kaydel what that was. After that, I followed Phasma like a moth to flame, noticing the particulars of her every move, the delicacy and intention of how she placed flatware, her tableside wine service manner, even how she managed to keep tables clean all throughout service when it seemed common for crumbs to litter other people’s sections by the end of customers meals.

Or guests. Everyone, Phasma included, called them guests.

Early on, Phasma brough me to the service bar and splashed white wine into two small glasses.

“You drink, correct? We’re going to do a quick tasting. You’ll want to take notes.”

I started, then looked around me to see if anyone was watching. I wanted to ask her if this was okay to do right now when she picked up my glass and handed it to me.

“This is our lightest white wine. I recommend it for those who are looking for a Pinot Grigio. They’re just interested in something bone-dry. It is highly recommended to pair with seafood, particularly oysters when we have them as a special.” She swirled the glass, letting the wine grab the sides of it and slowly sink down. White blonde hair falling over her forehead, she stuck her nose in the glass and took a deep inhale. “Slightly floral on the nose, but crisp and clean palette and very light body. Are you going to drink yours? You have to know our wines well.”

I looked up from where I was writing down every word. “Yes, sorry.” I took a tiny sip of the already miniscule pour, smacking my lips. I didn’t taste any flowers. Just wine.

Phasma was able to tell and she was unimpressed. “Really _taste_ it, Rey. Smell it first, like I did.” I quickly followed her instructions tucking my head into the glass and hiding my blush. “Are you getting that floral note? Like white blossoms, a bit like honeysuckle.”

_Honeysuckle_. As she spoke, the sweet smell washed over me. Not thick like syrup, but like a delicate pool, or a raindrop. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeper.

The neighbor at the end of my street, the one with a flourishing garden despite the sandy soil they’d used to cover the whole of my neighborhood as if to discourage growth, had honeysuckles. It climbed high up a lattice lodged deep in the ground that came up to the edge of the street. My bus stop for school was on the same corner, and I had spent many waxing mornings beside it, smelling the air though trying to hide it from the other kids. It was illicit to indulge in.

Yet, it didn’t stop me from plucking one, every so often, from the vine when I was the first one at the stop. I would look both ways, then tip my head back, separating the base of the blossom from the inside and let it drip onto my tongue, all the while wonder how our meager soils could produce something so sweet.

I swirled the glass and took a larger sip, pulling air between my teeth to make bubbles like Phasma. She said it triggered the “olfactory sense” in the nose, because how you taste is largely dependent on smell. Phasma was right about the honeysuckle, but it was just a bit too dry. I let her have it though.

As the night went on, I had to deal with Hux. Though Hux held distain for everybody, Phasma also held disdain for him, so at least when he grilled me about ingredients, process, and flatware that was to be brought with each dish, Phasma didn’t hesitate to step in. Whether it was for my benefit or to have an excuse to rip him a new one, I wasn’t sure, but I was grateful to have some heat off of my back. I’d already felt a little loose after tasting all the wines. Phasma finished each of her own pours and at some point, my own competitiveness kicked in, so I matched her pour for pour as I scribbled in my notebook.

During one of their squabbles where Hux insisted I needed to know the kinds of potatoes they used for their poutine and Phasma argued, voice rising, “Hux, _I don’t even know that_ ,” I met Ben’s eyes over Hux’s shoulder. Smirking, he nodded at me, and with the increasing volume of conversation to my right, I couldn’t help but smile back. There always seemed to be at least one lock of hair that slipped from his bandana over his forehead. His eyes roved over the scene; Hux and Phasma’s accented voices each gaining pitch, while I sat uncomfortably beside them, hands folded politely over my notebook. I was about to refer to it to avoid my discomfort when Ben spoke, yelling down the line.

“Hey, Rose! What kind of potatoes do we make our fries out of?”

“Fingerlings,” she said, face as she dropped one of the fryers down and pulled another up. I noticed she had bangs today at family meal, but now they were pulled away from her face by her backwards hat. “Why?”

Ben shrugged, arranging plates for the dishes that were about to come out, then turning to help Tallie pull something from the salamander above the stovetop. “No reason. I think Hux forgot again.”

I felt my jaw drop, and I looked over at Phasma who was barely containing a grin.

“Well,” she said, “now we all know.”

His eyes were blistering, so I trained my gaze back towards the line as Phasma lead me away along the booths. Ben looked up from his plating and met my eyes. Winking quick and sharp, he turned back to the pork shoulder in front of him, fanning the tender, pink pieces.

I bit my cheek, turning to look back at my menu. Fingerlings. That would be easy to remember.

With each training shift I got a free meal and drink. Kaydel plopped down at the bar next to me that night. She had been expo, so we both finished at the same time. We drank while I waited for my food to come out, and I kept my notebook open for whenever Kaydel wasn’t talking.

Her tall, geometric wine glass held a dark yellow wine, almost amber, while I drank a martini Paige made with their house-made vermouth. I hadn’t gotten to meet her formally yesterday since her section was so busy and I left shortly after she started, but from what I could tell, her and Rose were both complete opposites and exactly the same.

“ _So_ , when did you move here Rey?” Kaydel asked. Somehow there were still questions she hadn’t asked me.

“Oh, uhm, about a week ago?” I heard Paige sing that back to me, the ‘about a week ago’ part, as she double shook some drinks.

“Wow! Really? You got this job quick, huh?” Kaydel said. Tonight, her hair was in two buns.

“Yeah,” I said, scratching my scalp. “Is that bad?”

“No! No, not at all,” she said, waving her hands placatingly in front of her. One of them landed on the stem of her wine glass, bringing it towards her mouth. “You just found this job quick, is all. I spent a lot of time just hanging out and exploring for, like, the first month. But then I ran out of savings and needed to land a spot.”

I nodded, understanding that pressure. “Yeah. I’m just not very good at having free time. I kind of always have to be moving.” My short nails tapped my glass as if to emphasize.

“I noticed that,” Kaydel said. “You write, like, _everything_ down, which is great! But it seems like you hold on to everything.”

I felt my breath catch. “I do. I feel like I have to, right? I mean, I really want this job.”

Kaydel nodded sagely, though with one eyebrow quirked. The gesture hung in my periphery as I took a large sip. My martini was strong, and it tasted like flowers and citrus. My lips puckered.

“I didn’t realize I wanted this job ‘til I had it,” Kaydel continued. I watched Paige strain a cocktail into a thin stream of color, its contents hazy. “But you’re right. And you seem to know something I didn’t when I started, so you’re already ahead of the game.”

I smiled. “Maybe, I’m not sure yet.”

Paige handed me a rolled linen with silverware a second before a plate was set in front of me. The hand that set it down was a familiar one, even if it sported a new burn between the thumb and index finger.

“Our tomato and corn salad with black anchovies,” Ben said, then produced another small plate and set it next to it. “And I did the liberty of giving you our pasta de sepia also. I figured you’d never order it for yourself, but it’s necessary eating.” He leaned forward on the bar towards me but addressed Kaydel. “How’d she do tonight?”

Kaydel shrugged. “Great, from what I could tell. Phasma would be the one to ask.”

“Or maybe you could ask me,” I interrupted, aggravated about being talked _around_ and not _to_.

Ben quirked an eyebrow. “My apologies, Rey. How do _you_ think you did?” His face was closer to mine, though not because of him. I leaned forward on the bar on my elbows. The steam from the pasta warmed my neck and chest.

“I think I did pretty well, as a matter of fact.”  
  


“Yeah? Been taking your notes?”

I broke our gaze for a moment, though I only met his lips. I cleared my throat. “Yes.”

“Good. That’s good. You’re a fine student, Rey,” he said, softer than before.

I clenched my teeth. “Well, I don’t _claim_ to know everything.”

Instead of matching me with a quip, Ben slowly shook his head. The ends of his hair dragged along his shirt collar. “No one does,” he said, somehow softer.

My brow furrowed, then Finn came over from the other side of the bar and clapped him on the back. “Looking for something to drink, Ben?”

He was still looking at me when he said, ‘ _Yes._ ’ Then he turned away. “What are you working on?”

Finn rubbed his palms together, conspiratorially. “Hm, I’ve got this Mai Tai variation that I’m trying to put on for special. Wanna gauge it for me?”

“Hell yeah, I do.”

“Pitcher for the kitchen?”

Ben blew out a deep breath. “They’d love that. Long night. What do you want to eat for closing?”

“Nah man, you don’t have to –”

Ben shook his head, now serious. “I’m not going to have you come in and have cold family meal then expect you to make all the staff drinks. What do you want to eat?”

With lips quirked, Finn gestured to my own set that I’d almost forgotten about. I began to dig into the tomatoes. “Let me get this here ‘Orchards’ a la Rey.”

“With this wittle baby pasta on the side?” Kaydel asked in a baby voice, pointing to my tiny side plate.

“Absolutely.”

“You got it,” Ben said, then looked at me. “Let me know what you think, Rey.” Then he returned to the kitchen.

I watched him go, his dark silhouette backlit by the light of the kitchen reflecting off perfectly polished stainless steel, his head aflame in his bandana. I turned back to my food and knocked the rest of my martini back. It was good, but I almost gagged, and Kaydel laughed hard, holding her chest. I loaded my mouth with tomatoes, which helped. This time I tried an anchovy and was pleasantly surprised. Its saltiness was a perfect complement to the sweet corn and bright tomatoes.

“I’m watching you experience a lot of emotion over here and it’s amazing,” Kaydel said, wiping a tear from her eyes.

Swallowing a huge mouthful, I said, “You’re not wrong.” Then I looked at the pasta. I lifted one of the black noodles with my fork. _Squid ink, huh?_ Ben said I would never order it on my own.

He thought I wouldn’t like it, so I was determined to love it.

I slurped one of the noodles and immediately closed my eyes as I chewed.

“Holy shit.” I opened my eyes. “Wait, was that me?”

Kaydel cackled again. “Yes! God, you are so _funny_.”

Find came by with a large pitcher and two of the short glasses used for by-the-glass wine. Putting them down in front of us, he poured one for Kaydel and moved to do so for me.

“Hey, Finn, I’m okay actually. I don’t need anymore,” I said. I’d already been loose lipped about a damn noodle.

“Are you sure?” He asked, tentative. The pitcher was still poised over my glass. I saw Kaydel steadily finish her glass of wine and move onto her small cocktail. She was the first person to call me ‘funny.’ Like ‘ha ha’ funny, anyway. Soon, I wouldn’t be so funny.

“Yes, very sure. Thank you, though.” I dug into my food then, nearly inhaling it.

I felt bad saying no to Finn. He was great and his drinks truly were very good. I wasn’t rejecting him, I just needed to maintain some semblance of control for now.

Within minutes I’d finished everything, using my finger to swipe the edges of my plates clean. I had enough of my wits to not bring the entire thing to my face.

I heard Paige chuckle above me. “Nice, Rey. You good on this?” I was a bit winded, so I just nodded. I checked the time, the only thing that greeted me as I unlocked my phone.

“Damn, how many times have you dropped that thing?” Kaydel asked, now on her second pour from Finn’s pitcher.

I looked at the crack that bisected the screen on its left side. The very bottom had lost the glass in the shape of a small fist. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I feel like every time I take it out there’s a new crack.”

Paige then leaned across the bar to look over the wine menu with Kaydel, both talking quickly and somewhat hushed. They sounded heated, but not at each other. Paige pulled out a pen and they began to mark up the menu together.

Looking at the clock again, I started gathering my stuff, feeling like I’d begun to overstay my welcome. I’d spoken to Poe at the beginning of my shift about my training schedule and when I was cut for the evening, he told me he’d see me next time. I thought he must have retired to the office for the evening since I didn’t see him pacing the floor anymore. Seemed like I didn’t need to check out with anyone.

But I did want to talk to someone. Slinging my backpack over my shoulders, I made my way quickly to the pass. It was free of all of its hardware. All the tiny tins of salt and spices were cleared onto one, small hotel pan, and Ben was writing on a legal pad. I didn’t see Hux around.

“Hey, kid,” he said, not looking up at me.

“ _How did you_ – you know what? Nevermind,” I huffed, turning to leave as quickly as I came.

“Hey, wait!” I spun around, only a few feet away. His eyes were soft, and – embarrassed? My shoulders dropped. Ben cleared his throat. “Uhm, your shoes.”

I furrowed my brow, confused, then looked down. Ah, bright yellow. I looked at him again. “That’s fair.”

He chuckled. I liked that. Dimples creased his cheeks for a moment.

“I, uhm,” I continued, my eyes trained on the small tin with red pepper in it. Espelette, I remembered. Ben said it was like paprika but smoked. “I just wanted to thank you for the food. And the pasta, too. I thought it was good.” I glanced at him. “Delicious, actually.”

“I had a feeling,” Ben said.

“A feeling?”

“That you would enjoy it,” he clarified, adjusting his bandana behind his ear and looking back to his notes.

I cocked my head. It hadn’t sounded that way. “You did? Why?”

He shrugged his shoulders, then looked from his notes to me, and didn’t look away. “You’re not picky. Well, from what I’ve noticed. You try everything, and ask a lot of questions, like you’re determined to like something, even if it’s new.” He shrugged again. “And you don’t waste anything. Like I said, you’re a good student.” Though this time when he said it, there was no teasing. Just his hand adjusting his bandana again on the other side of the marble countertop.

“It helps to have a good teacher. Or, _teachers_.” A little breath huffed out of his nose at that.

“Sorry about Hux, by the way,” he said. I looked around cautiously. “He left, don’t worry. Whoever’s on extra,” he pointed to his earlier position behind him, “takes over for the pass and closes the kitchen.”

I nodded. “It’s alright. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“He doesn’t need to rag on people as hard as he does, but he’s thorough, which is always helpful back here.”

“You lacking in the “thoroughness” department or something?”

Another chuckle, though this one was tinged darker. “We could always use it. But, no, I’m not,” he said pointedly.

“I didn’t really think so,” I murmured in agreement.

“When are you in next?” he asked, finishing his list and putting the rest of the spices away.

“Tomorrow.”

He smirked as he moved. “Figures. So, I’ll see you then. Bring me questions if you have any.”

“Will do,” I said, feeling a twinge of gratefulness in my chest.

I waved goodbye and made my way out, and though he wasn’t looking at me as I’d turned away, I felt eyes on me as I left.

*

The following four days were a rigorous cycle. Study until I went cross-eyed with fatigue, sleep for a few hours, wake up and drink coffee with Jess, her offering to quiz me before she got ready for work, me declining and exploring the neighborhood on my bike as far as my wobbly knees would let me, then getting ready for work. As I went, I found random pieces of furniture. A small, antique end table with a lamp. The lamp just needed a new cord which I was able to replace at the thrift shop around the corner. A little wooden stool. A large round mirror that I propped on the wall. I brought them all home with me, and I let myself buy a plant to put on the stool. One that didn’t need very much sunlight.

I distracted myself. I had to. I felt like there was a gaping hole in my pocket where answers or concern should be. Half of it was because I wanted the job and studying and practicing would help me land it, but I couldn’t lie to even myself about the other half. More than once I found myself about to write a text message or call just to hear the voicemail recording late at night.

I’d stop myself though, because I didn’t know what I’d do if all I got was voicemail and nothing else.

I’d have to make a deposit soon though. I was meant to get my first paycheck on Friday. Direct deposit. And the envelope full of cash wasn’t safe. Jess said she did rent payments through wire transfer so she could have receipts. Something about an old landlord has made her cautious about it, so I’d need to put money in my account. I’d kept it on nearly empty, or at least enough that if some were transferred out, I wouldn’t really miss it. A large deposit would be noticeable. Maybe they’d text me then and start asking questions. Money made them curious. Interested.

Maybe they’d try.

The fourth night was my reverse shadowing shift. Phasma would take the position that I took on my first training day and watch me serve her section. The past few days were slow after Memorial Day, and Phasma hadn’t micromanaged anything I’d done the past two days, so I repeated to myself it would be okay as I unset and reset the small kitchen table in the middle of the apartment while Vober ate cereal. I even went as far as asking him if I could clear his dish. It was actually a good challenge since he left behind about half a bowl of almond milk, though I winced at the waste I poured down the drain.

I rode my bike for a solid thirteen minutes. I’d started timing myself. One less minute than yesterday, one less hour I’d been able to sleep the night before.

Hux was going to be on the pass. Tuesdays and Wednesdays were Ben’s days off since “industry weekend” was actually busy for them. The restaurant group that _Orchards_ was a part of was pretty popular, especially with other restaurant people. I’d seen that the past few days. Staff all talking amongst themselves and what they could send them as gifts.

_They’re the GM at d’Qar’s, gluten allergy … Beverage director at Mino. They love our vermouth … they’re captaining the new Premier Ordre restaurant in Soho …_

More than an industry. A community. People that knew each other even if they didn’t. And I was trying to remember the difference between a Godello and an Albariño, my knee bouncing on the park bench I’d parked at an hour prior.

Fuck.

*

My hands trembled for the first hour of service. Set up went fine, obviously, but as soon as I had to start interacting with guests, I shook. Not visibly. No wine was spilt, or food dropped, but I felt my insides vibrate so severely that I thought my teeth would start chattering.

But as the guests’ questions came and my answers slid with ease, I began to calm down. Most of the material I went over with Phasma and Ben came the easiest. She was meticulous, giving comparisons, unique adjectives, and scenarios to accompany wine. How naturally she was able to do so was absorbable, like she was a stream of water and I was a sponge, eager to sop up all of her experience.

Ben was a bit different. He was similarly precise, but not anxious. I realized over the past few days that many of the dishes were his, though he didn’t say so himself. It was through other people’s conversations, sometimes with him, that made me realize they’d come from him.

That was confidence, knowing your craft well enough that all you need do is listen and pay attention, and take people’s feedback seriously. Sometimes a bit too seriously, if the lines of his face were any indicator. But it was his passion. That much was clear to me. Maybe there was no such thing as “too serious” when you love what you do.

As my quaking stilled, I felt like I began to move as a well-oiled machine, with countless working parts. I began to think of the whole operation of serving guests as its own mechanism that benefitted from fine tuning, like resetting flatware after messier dishes or making sure all liquids were full. When I did everything about it changed.

Guests were not as frightening, which was the opposite of what I’d expected. A few seemed a bit clueless, but others understood. Kaydel was a natural at socializing, so I tried to embody her when communicating with people. She wasn’t there, but I got to meet Jannah finally. Her beauty intimidated me at first, but her easy manner and gap tooth made her about the most charming person in the building. Every once in a while, she’d nudge me and wink, checking to see how all was going.

I cleared and reset, poured wine, helped pair drinks with food, and only needed to swing around and ask Phasma a question twice. I thought I’d even caught her smiling. A lip was quirked, at least.

My eyes strayed to the kitchen throughout the night. I tried not to be disappointed to see Hux’s smaller frame, but I’d smile at Tallie and Rose, the latter sometimes staring at Hux’s back as he called orders over his shoulder.

The night passed with ease, which for me could either be really good or really bad. It was time for someone to get cut, so Amilyn pulled me and Phasma aside.

“I think you’re good for the night Rey. I’m going to talk to Phasma briefly and then you can join me downstairs, alright?”

I nodded, feeling like my voice wasn’t capable of sound at the moment. I took a seat at the end of the bar near where Finn was setting drinks to be run.

“All done for the night?” he asked, and I nodded. My nerves must have been visible. “You feeling okay?”

I nodded slower and stared at the creases in the bar top.

“Well,” Finn said after a few moments, “did you want a drink?”

This time I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so.” I look at Finn. He nodded, giving me the floor to speak. “Tonight was my last training shift. Amilyn is talking to Phasma now.”

“Hmm, got it. How do you feel about it?”

“God, I don’t know,” I said and put my face in my hands. “I thought it went okay but that could also mean that I royally fucked up and am about to be banned from the damn building.” I blew out a breath and crossed my arms. “Phasma even smiled at me. Does that mean I fucked up?”

Finn looked dumb struck for a second, then found himself. “Wait, Phasma _smiled at you_?”

“Yes! Oh god, this is so bad,” I said, burying my flaming face in my arms, forcing the first few tears from leaking. “I must’ve fucked up so bad. She was laughing at me, wasn’t she? I just – I really _need_ this job Finn. I need, I –,” I couldn’t even find the words. I didn’t just need the money. I had about a month’s worth of savings to get me by. I could go back to one of those places with the creepy men with greased hair, they’d definitely hire me, even if I had to dodge their advances all night long. I’ve done it before with the manager that Maz eventually fired.

But I didn’t want that, I wanted _more_. I wanted something that everyone here seemed to have, even if I didn’t know what it was.

“Rey, slow down. Phasma wasn’t laughing at you.”

I wiped my eyes discreetly on my arms before I raised my head. “She wasn’t?”

“No. Phasma doesn’t laugh when people mess up. She corrects them up and down. You know how she trains; she doesn’t let one thing get by her, does she?” I shook my head and sniffled. Finn handed me a few cocktail napkins. I wiped my nose quickly. “Exactly. Rey, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Really?” I asked, mopping my face.

“Really.”

Finn’s eyes were so kind, I had to look away. I fidgeted with my small wad of napkins. “Thank you, Finn. Sorry about that,” I said, chuckling. I tucked my napkins into my pocket so he wouldn’t try to take them from me.

“Hey, don’t mention it,” he said. Then, he sounded more serious. “I know what it’s like to really want – really _need_ something.” We locked eyes then, and balm of understanding fell over both of us.

“You’re a good person,” I mumbled.

“I try. Good to know that it’s working.” We both turned to see Amilyn come up the stairs with Phasma. “Hey, what do you want to drink to celebrate after?” Finn whispered.

“Don’t jinx me!” I whispered back, tucking some errant hair behind my ears and blinking rapidly to get rid of any remaining glassiness.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, but just to be prepared. Scout’s honor,” he said, saluting.

“I don’t know! Surprise me.”

He smiled wide then left to tend the other end of the bar.

“Rey? Come on, let’s have a chat in the office,” Amilyn said. Her willowy figure led me down the steps through the concrete basement to the tiny office. It wasn’t much of one, really. Just the few shared laptops that made their way from managers to sous chefs to bartenders, a small desk, a laser printer, and two chairs.

I took a seat and Amilyn closed the door behind me.

“So,” she said, sitting also. “How do you think tonight went, Rey?”

“Uhm,” I cleared my throat. “I think it went okay. There were a few times where I think I over poured wine and, ya know, didn’t have the right answer to guest’s questions. I’m still kind of mixing up wines and flatware for dishes, but I’ve been studying a lot, so I think I’ll get the hang of it soon,” I said in one breath.

When I looked at Amilyn, her eyes were wide, but she was smiling. “Really? That’s not exactly what I heard.”

I gulped. “It – it wasn’t?”

“Not at all. Phasma said you did a great job.” She leaned forward, her purple hair swaying, and ticked off on her fingers. “She said you were great with guests, that your wine service was fine, that you know ingredients and allergens very well, and you were very receptive on the rare occasions that she needed to help you.” Then, she chuckled. “Rey, you did _great_. In fact, we would love to have you on our team.”

Blood rushed in my ears. I almost couldn’t hear myself speak. “You do?”

“Absolutely. We would love to discuss next steps, including your availability, if you prefer a set schedule or don’t mind us moving you around, if you have any upcoming events that you need to discuss with us, all of that stuff.” A roguish smile perched on her face. “That is, if you accept the offer?”

“Yes!” I said, too fast and too loud.

“Well, Rey, let’s figure this out then,” she said, and pulled out onboarding documents and a pencil. “And welcome to the Rebel Restaurant Group.”

A half hour later, I came back upstairs with my bag and a grin I couldn’t manage to knock off my face to see Finn leaning over the bar where I had been talking with him earlier.

“I couldn’t decide on anything. You’re a wild card still. You’re gonna have to tell me what you want.”

I smiled even broader. My cheeks ached.

“Let me get that Mai Tai from a few days ago.” He turned to get started on it. “By the way, thank you. Seriously.”

His smile mirrored mine in brilliancy. I knew because the candlelight bounced off of the glass lining the back bar, aglow in a mural of light reflecting back and forth, overlapping and showing me my face. My own face. Brilliant.

**Author's Note:**

> im @star_pilots on twitter please tell me how to hyperlink i will beg on every story.


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